


Man in the Box Chapter 1

by justanotherjen



Category: Stargate: SG-1
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherjen/pseuds/justanotherjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNINGS: mentions of torture, rape, violence towards children and other adult themes (nothing graphic, just vivid imagery)</p><p>Daniel slowly goes mad while held captured by a crazy Goa'uld that wants something from him. But nothing is how it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Man in the Box**   
> **by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)**   
> **Stargate SG-1**   
> **Daniel (hints of Jack/Sam)  
> **   
> **17,645 words**   
> **rating: R  
>  WARNINGS: mentions of torture, rape, violence towards children and other adult themes (nothing graphic, just vivid imagery)  
> **

They come back an hour later, depositing Jack at our feet. My wrist hurts. It's been hurting since I tried in vain to stop them from taking Jack. He had yelled and ordered me to stop but I couldn't stand there and watch them take him. Now my wrist hurts.

We don't budge until the guards are gone, locking us to our little corner of hell with an invisible forcefield. Sam moves first, dropping to Jack's side. She starts checking him for injuries. I'm more worried about him not breathing. Finally I see his chest rise and fall. He's alive. Barely by the looks of him.

I give my friend one last look then pick up the axe again. Why is it always mines? And the archaic tools? I know it has all to do with power and showmanship but right now I need something to grumble about—a direction to vent my anger and fear. We have a quota to fill. Doesn't matter that Jack is down and out for the count. We have a quota. Moments later Sam joins me as I pound away at the solid wall, each hit reverberating painfully through my body. My wrist hurts so much. I'm pretty sure it's broken. Sam used the bottoms of our t-shirts to make a bandage but it does little to help.

I keep swinging my axe and my wrist keeps hurting and I know my turn is next. I glance down at Jack's unconscious form. Seeing Jack knocked out scares me. More than I would ever admit to anyone, especially Jack. Jack's my rock. I'm not cut out for this crap—guns and firefights and being captured. Tortured. I do it because it has to be done. And Jack's always there watching my back. Except when he isn't. I wait to see his chest rise and fall again. Still alive. Barely. And I'm next.

We've been here three... four days. It's hard to keep track. Teal'c never made it into the mines. The slaves are all human. I guess digging in the dirt is below a Jaffa. Even traitors like Teal'c. I try not to think of what they did to him. Jack's sure he's still on the surface plotting some Jaffa revenge thing to come rescue us. Me and Sam exchange looks whenever he mentions it. I think she's on my side but we don't discuss it—it's too painful to dwell on.

The first night we didn't make quota. We were too busy scheming and plotting. That will never happen again. They don't punish you for missing quota here. No, you get to stand by and watch someone else beaten to a bloody pulp for your laziness. A mother with a baby still on the breast reduced to a quivering mass curled into a protective ball around her squalling infant. They didn't even have the decency to remove the baby before the attack. I don't think she survived.

I had only held my meager meal down until we were returned to our cell. I promptly hurled all over the floor with Sam calmly patting my back but looking just as pale and sick as me. Jack paced the small confines trying to dissipate his rage before he did something rash. He finally took it out on the mess I made. I was eternally grateful.

The next day they took Sam. I had wanted to get her back. Jack told me to get back to work. No one else would ever suffer because of our failure. One member short, we worked until our hands bled then carefully tore the sleeves from Jack's shirt to make bandages and worked some more.

They had tossed Sam back only half clothed, laughing the whole time. The bastards enjoyed this far too much. They sure couldn't be human in any sense of the word. I felt sick again but kept everything down. Jack went to her side and helped her get dressed. I ignored their hushed voices. I didn't want to know. This is what they were trained for, not me. I don't belong here and, not for the first time, wondered how I ever talked Hammond into letting me on a front-line team. When Jack joins me again he takes his fury out on the stone wall. We go over quota that night despite little help from Sam.

We sleep in the same cell as we work. The more we dig the more space we have. The first night we were practically on top of each other as we avoided the crackling air around the forcefield. Jack insisted we take turns at watch. I fell asleep during mine. I'll never tell him. The next day they had come for Jack.

I glance at him again. His chest is moving... slowly, but moving. I go back to work. Sam notices my new tic.

"He'll be all right, Daniel," she tells me softly.

I'm not sure I believe her. If he's not okay than who will save me? Who will come up with the half-assed crazy idea that gets us out of this mess? Panic grips me and I double over gasping for air.

"Daniel?"

I wave her off. She needs to keep digging. We have to make quota. A few deep breaths and I'm swinging the axe again. I'm sure my wrist is broken now. It probably won't matter after tomorrow. I look down at Jack. Still breathing.

Meals are a communal thing. The alarm sounds—loud in our cell. Jack doesn't even flinch. But he's still breathing. I drop my axe automatically, my hands so sore I can barely move them, and I line up behind Sam to wait. I'm worried about leaving Jack alone but there's nothing we can do. The line for food snakes along the corridors of the mine into a large cavern. We get a bowl of broth with bits of... something in it and chalky, stale bread. You get only as much as the guards want to give you. It's not the worst I've eaten. The fact that I can say that sends chills down my spine.

Sam and I take turns eating, one of us always eying the crowd for trouble. Hungry people are desperate people and those not paying attention are easy targets. Jack's taught us well. He'd be proud. The broth is better thickened with the bread and the bread is only marginally edible soaked in broth. We both dampen our bread before pocketing the slices for Jack. Then we slurp down the soup with matching grimaces.

That's dinner. Or breakfast. It's all the same. We head back to our cell. Jack is still out. Sam checks him and we go back to work. We have to make quota and we're one man short and I have a broken wrist. It's only been... three days and already I'm losing it. I don't see how we'll get out of this. I'm sure, though, that if Jack were awake I wouldn't be thinking this way. He would never let me. He'd fill us with hope and confidence even if you could tell he had his own doubts. And then he'd pull some crazy scheme from his ass and get us all through. Oh, he'd pawn all the glory on to someone else, usually Sam, but it's always Jack that gets us out of situations. I wish he'd wake up. I'm tired and hurting everywhere but I swing my axe anyway. Sam's hands are bleeding and we're running out of pieces of shirt. I use the tip of my axe to tear off the bottoms of my pants and somehow we tie them around her blistered palms. She sees the worry, the fear, in my eyes and gently squeezes my hand.

"We'll get out of here."

I nod. There's nothing else to say. I really don't believe her. I want to but I look down at the still form of my best friend and I just can't. I grip my axe in my less injured hand and get back to work. Quota has to be filled, one hand or two.

Jack doesn't stir the rest of the night. I ignore the soggy lump in my pocket that is Jack's dinner even though it's uncomfortable and my stomach rumbles in greedy displeasure. I use that to fuel more digging. We have to make quota, hunger be damned.

Jack doesn't stir when they come to collect and count our stones. We make it. Barely. He doesn't even stir when the guard kicks him out of the way to finish his count, a terrifying glee in his eyes. Sam grips my arm tightly lest I do something else stupid. I need at least one good hand to swing my axe.

Jack doesn't stir when the alarm goes off and they drag us all to the cavern. Someone didn't make quota. It wasn't us. They choose a boy, no older than fifteen. There's not much left when they're done. As we march back to our cell I know we'll be back again tomorrow. There's no way the boy survived and all that's left of his group is a younger sister and a grandfather to work. I feel sick but manage to stop the vomit in my mouth. The broth tastes twice as bad going down the second time.

Jack doesn't stir when we take turns relieving ourselves in the corner or when we roll out the thin blankets we are provided for sleeping. They do nothing to pad the hard ground or to warm us. Sam checks for pointy rocks then we transfer Jack to the pallet, covering him with his jacket while we bunch mine under his head. He looks deathly pale. It's the first time I've taken a good look at him. His lip are busted, both upper and lower, and his left eye is swelled almost shut. The bruises across his cheek are the only color to him. Sam can't feel any broken bones but that doesn't mean they aren't there. We take up positions on either side of him. Sam's more worried than she's letting on. I know she wants to be that soldier that isn't affected but she can't. It's not her. She's not Jack.

She reaches up and brushes dust from Jack's battered face. The touch is tender and I feel slightly dirty watching something so intimate pass between my two friends. I'm not blind. I see the way Jack looks at Sam. She's a beautiful, smart, funny, sexy woman and I can appreciate those aspects of her. I am a man after all. But it's completely platonic. I love her like a sister. But when Jack looks at her you can feel the heat radiating off of him. There's a whole lot of passion and hunger and longing. But if you watch long enough, if you know him like I do, you'll see the subtle shift.

There's a moment when the passion morphs into affection, the hunger changes over to admiration and the longing is obviously not all sexual. Jack thinks he can hide it but he's a lot more obvious than he realizes. Teal'c's seen it, too. And Janet. Hell, the whole base knows it. The only ones oblivious it seems are Jack and Sam.

She runs her fingers through his hair on the guise of cleaning out the dirt and debris. She doesn't fool me. She gets the same look in her eye that Jack does. Stupid military regulations. I shift, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. My wrist hurts so bad it's gone numb. You'd think that would be a good thing. It's not. I groan as I accidentally clip my injured arm sending shockwaves of agony up to my shoulder and into my fingers. Squeezing my eyes shut only forces the tears out faster. I'm not cut out for this. In the distance babies scream and people yell out in pain and desperation. I roll away from Jack and Sam. I hate being their third wheel. Sleep only comes out of exhaustion.

I wake up to quiet voices. Jack's conscious. Sam's got him leaning against the wall.

"Jack?" I'm afraid to ask him how he is.

He watches me a few seconds before answering. "I'm okay, Daniel."

I let out a relieved sigh then cover my eyes with my good arm. I'm not sure I can move. The alarm sounds for breakfast and Sam helps Jack to unsteady feet. I some how manage to get up on my own.

I only nibble on my bread. I know they'll come for me today. First was Sam and then Jack. Now it's my turn. What's the point of eating if they are just going to beat the food out of me? Jack wants me to eat—there's no reason to assume they will take me. I think he must have left his brain back in the torture chamber. I force myself to suck down a few sips of broth but give the rest to Jack. He eats it as reluctantly as I with Sam hovering over him.

Back in our cell he sees me favoring my left hand as I grip my axe one-handed.

"How's the arm?"

I glance down at it cradled up against my stomach. "I'll never play the violin."

There's no time for him to question me more. We have to make quota. I do my best to help with the axe but it's becoming obvious I'm of little help. My hand is so blistered it's bleeding through the layers of cloth, the skin just peeling from my palm. Jack orders me to take a break. I start to refuse but our argument is cut short. It's my turn.

Jack and Sam stand back as the guards lower the shield and drag me out. I don't put up a fight but they're extra rough with me any way. Jack shouts out obscenities I don't really register through the pain as they grip my broken wrist. They ignore him anyway.

I'm not sure what I expected. I'm pretty sure it wasn't this. The guards stop at a set of magnificently carved wooden doors and knock. The doors seem to open on their own and I'm shoved inside. Definitely not that I expected. The room is huge. Heavy drapes hang from the tall ceiling and the floor is covered in plus carpeting. All around large, comfortable looking lounges and poofy pillows beckon to my weary body. I stand in awe and more than a little confusion.

"The great Doctor Daniel Jackson," a deep voice says from behind me. I jump in response and spin around. "Slayer of Ra and Apophis."

I don't mention that Apophis keeps showing up alive. I doubt Jack could have held his tongue.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage."

The voice materializes from the shadows into a tall, muscular man with long, flowing black hair and piercing green eyes. He's not using a Goa'uld voice but that doesn't mean much.

"It's an honor, Dr. Jackson." He ignores my initial comment as he comes closer.

"Who are you?" Maybe he only understands blunt.

He smiles, perfect white teeth gleaming in the flickering light. "Please, sit, make yourself comfortable."

I don't move. Not even my eyes. They are locked onto his body. I watch his movements with the eye of a wary soldier—Jack's eyes.

This seems to amuse my captor. He chuckles. "I have no intention of harming you, Dr. Jackson. I only wish to talk."

Like he talked to Sam and Jack? I don't budge, my muscles going rigid. Fight or flight, I realize.

"Please," he attempts again, motioning with one hand towards the many chairs, "relax and rest. I'll have some food brought down and we can talk."

Finally I glance over at the chairs. They look so tempting but I know Jack and Sam are back in our cell pounding against the stone wall worrying about making quota. Worrying about what is happening to me, their weakest link. They are so tempting, though. And it's my job to get to know our captors. It always is—to play the diplomat. If I could find out what this guy wants maybe I can find a weakness, get us out of here. I relent and cautiously slide into a large, cushy armchair. I sit on the edge, back straight, though. No need to let my guard down.

This pleases my new _friend_. He pulls another chair over and plops into it, stretching his long legs out. "It's been a trying day," he tells me as if we're too old buddies discussing our mundane jobs. "I've been waiting to get you down here. I didn't think this day would ever come."

I frown. "Who are you?"

"Daniel—can I call you Daniel?—I've been wanting to meet you for so very long. Your adventures are legendary."

"They are?" I can't stop myself before the words leave my mouth. I'm confused and my wrist is throbbing.

"Of course. We all know of the great Daniel Jackson."

That doesn't sound right but I decide to play along. "Really?"

He's pleased with my responses apparently because his smile brightens. "Oh, yes. The way you defeated Ra was marvelous."

I blink several times hoping to clear the fog of pain from my head because this guy isn't making much sense. Ra? I'm pretty sure it was Jack that blew Ra to kingdom come.

"And Apophis-"

"Apophis isn't dead." Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?

"Oh?" He glances at me then must have assumed I was downplaying my role because he smiled again. "No matter. We'll discuss that later. I've been waiting so long to talk to you I'm sure I can wait a little longer." He eyes me again. I'm hugging my broken wrist to my stomach, my other arm wrapped protectively around it. I'm sure I'm covered head to toe in dirt and stone dust. I know it's in my lungs—it's getting progressively harder to breathe. And I know I smell worse than death. "Where are my manners?" His voice pierces the haze in my brain and I try to focus on it again. He claps his hands and magically a gaggle of young girls dressed in little more than shifts of sheer fabric appear from nowhere and everywhere. They surround me and, despite their vulnerable attire, I feel a momentary panic at their approach. They giggle at my nervousness then gently pull me to my feet. I have no choice but to follow along.

I'm summarily stripped of my ragged, smelly BDUs and guided towards a large, steaming bath I hadn't noticed before. I feel like I'm betraying my friends back in the mine as I carefully follow the steps into the scalding water. In seconds my aching body adjusts to the temperature and begins to relax. It's like heaven. My eyes drift shut as my head lolls back against the side of the bath. I can almost forget where I am if it weren't for the constant agony that is my wrist. The girls go about their business which, apparently, involves bathing me from head to foot. And when they are satisfied with their endeavor they reluctantly coerce me out of the water again.

I'm not sure how long I was in there. My fingers and toes are pruney. Other parts of my body now react as they should when the scantily clad girls move around me. They giggle at my flushing face and dress me in soft linen pants and a tunic, ever mindful of my injury.

"Much better," my captor says with another smile. I wish he'd tell me his name. I wish I knew why I was here. We sit back in the same chairs. I'm just as tense as before; he's just as relaxed. We stare at each other. I have no clue what he wants. He smiles. He's always smiling. I find that unnerving. "Why don't you start by telling me how you've been."

I gape at him. Is he serious? When he offers nothing else I finally sputter something out. "I've been digging... in the mines."

"Ah, yes." Did he forget? "That's unfortunate. If I had known earlier you had been sent to the mines I would have rescued you."

"What about my friends?"

He just stares blankly at me.

"My friends. The people I was captured with."

"They are of no concern to me."

I grind my teeth in frustration and pain. "Well, they're a concern to me. A big concern."

He shrugs and gets to his feet, his long robes flowing around his body as he paces before me. "Tell me of Earth."

"No."

He turns abruptly to face me. "Why not?"

This guy is surely on some kind of alien drug. "I'm not telling you anything."

The smile is back, bigger than ever. "I can fix your arm."

I look down at my useless appendage.

"It pains you, I can tell. I can fix it. It won't bother you any more."

I would love that. I would give anything to stop the constant agonizing pain. Almost anything. I won't give up Earth. That's what I've spent the last five years fighting for. "No," I tell him resolutely.

He's momentarily shocked by my refusal. "Tell me of Earth. I hear it's a beautiful planet with many people. Large oceans and magnificent mountains."

"Who are you?" I ask instead of answering his questions.

He sighs in frustration. "Is it far from here?"

I couldn't answer him if I wanted to. I don't even know where here is, let alone how far away Earth is. "Why am I here?"

"I told you, I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Daniel."

"Why? I'm nobody special." That was true. I'm just the guy that gets my team in trouble. Either by doing something monumentally dumb or because they're trying to protect me. You'd think I'd learn by now. I briefly wonder why Jack keeps me around.

His laugh brings me out of my revelry. "You underestimate yourself, Daniel."

His voice is grating on my frayed nerves. And he keeps calling me Daniel like we're good friends. I want to slam my fist into his smug face but instead I sit and try to understand why I'm here, why I'm not back down in the mine suffering with my friends. Guilt wells up in me as I stare at my clean hands and clothes. God, I hope Jack and Sam are okay. I realize belatedly that he's been talking to me for awhile. Well, talking at me because I haven't heard a thing he's said. He's realized that, too. He claps his hands two times and one of the young girls from before appears, head lowered in submission.

He whispers to her and she departs only to return shortly with a device. He places it on his arm, flexing his fingers. My heart races at the sight of it. Definitely Goa'uld. He moves towards me and I reflexively back away. I don't go far—I'm still sitting in the chair.

"Don't be alarmed. I said I wouldn't hurt you. This is merely to repair your broken arm. You'll be able to concentrate better after that."

I'm not given an option to refuse. From nowhere strong arms pin me to the cushions and someone yanks my injured arm from it's protective spot against my body. I yelp in pain, the room spinning. I'm about to lose my lunch... er, breakfast when the pain begins to lessen. The throbbing numbness that has been my constant companion for the last couple of days departs along with sudden nausea and roller coaster perception. My arm is released. I open my eyes and flex my wrist. No pain. Nothing. It feels great. The blisters are gone, too.

"Much better," he declares. "Now we can have a proper conversation."

I just stare at him. My confusion must have been showing because he looks slightly askew then snaps his fingers. Instead of the girls two strapping boys in gold loincloths carry over a table laden with overfilled bowls. The smell of roasted meat and baked fruit fill my nostrils. It's intoxicating and I feel a little lightheaded at the overload to my senses. I'm starving. I've eaten nothing but a few bowls of broth and some dried bread for the past few days. My stomach gurgles at the opportunity but I stay staunchly in my seat.

"Please," he tells me, gesturing to the table, "eat. Take your fill."

"What about my friends in the mine?"

"What about them?"

"They're hungry, too." I cross my arms, refusing to move. He just cocks an eyebrow. My stomach rumbles in defiance.

He switches tactics. "Starving yourself won't help your friends, you know. If you are fed you will be stronger and more able to help them."

I'm surprised at how quickly I cave to that logic as I reach for what looks like a purple colored apple. It tastes sweet but grainy. I don't care. I eat it all in twenty seconds flat. After that I'm more interested in water. My throat is so dry and my lips are cracked. My captor understands and a goblet of icy water is presented to me. I chug it down and it burns and twists my stomach into a knot. I don't care. That's all I plan to eat. I swear. I don't know what happened after that because he keeps coaxing me and I keep obliging and pretty soon my gut is so full I can barely breathe. I belch loudly bringing another broad grin to my captor's face.

"Excellent. Now we can begin. Tell me about Earth."

"It's nice this time of year." I'm surprised to hear my own voice answer. That's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him to go to hell but that came out instead. He nods. "Well, it depends on where you are. But it's nice in Colorado this time of year. It's summer." No, I scream in my head, why am I telling him that?

"Col-uh-rah-do?" he prods. "Is that where you are from?"

"Yeah. Sort of. That's where I live now."

"With your friends?"

"Yeah, Jack and Sam. And Teal'c." I can't believe I almost forgot Teal'c.

"Is that where the Stargate is?"

I frown down at me bare feet. I can't tell him that. I can feel the answer on the tip of my tongue. He watches me expectantly. I can't tell him. I know that. It's important. "Yes," I answer anyway. I want to scream in frustration. I must have been drugged. It's the only explanation. I can't let him get anything else out of me.

"Tell me about your Stargate?"

I concentrate on my toes as I dig them into the carpet, eyes narrowed to thin slits. I won't answer that. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood. He leans forward in anticipation. He thinks he has me. I channel everything I know of Jack O'Neill, every little thing he's ever taught me over the years. "No," I say defiantly.

This was not the answer he was expecting. His eyes flash bright white. He jumps to his feet, knocking the table of empty dishes to the side. As his arm covered in the golden device levles on my face I close my eyes. I know what is coming. It's my turn. I don't remember anything after that.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wakey, wakey, Danny-boy."

Something is slapping at my face. It hurts. I try to turn away but it continues. There's another voice in the background but I can't understand. My head hurts. But my wrist feels better.

"Daniel, wake up." That's Jack ordering me around. I'd recognize that tone anywhere.

"Jack?"

I finally pry my eyes open and he's looming over me with a slight grin on his dirty face.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Where am I?" Everything is fuzzy.

His grin falters. "You're still in hell. Sorry." He reaches down and pulls me up to a sitting position and waits to see if I'm going to tip over. Or hurl on him. The world rights itself pretty quickly so I attempt to get to my feet. Sam is watching from the side.

"You don't look any worse for wear."

I glance down at my clean clothes and scrubbed skin in shame. I can't bear to tell them about my full belly.

"What did you tell them?" Sam asks and I don't like the suspicion in her voice.

"Nothing." I push my glasses up my nose and glare at her. And then at Jack who's hovering near my elbow. They both look at me with matching skepticism. "I don't think," I qualify, remembering how I readily gave up those first small facts.

Jack's expression becomes unreadable. "You look like you had a nice day at the spa anyway."

I flush bright red.

"You smell better at least. You were getting a little ripe."

I wrinkle my noise and frown. Jack's covered in a layer of grime, his shirt is torn and soaked in sweat and more than a little of his own blood. His hair, normally sticking up in every direction, is plastered to his head and caked in dirt. Streaks of grit drip down the sides of his face to leave black streaks over his bruises. Sam doesn't look much better.

"Can we just get back to work," I mutter as I grab my axe. We still have to make quota.

We don't talk for a long time as we pound away at the stone. My wrist is better but my head is killing me. It pounds in time with the clinking of the metal axes against the wall. I close my eyes—I don't need to see to hit some rocks.

Jack wants to know about my arm. He doesn't ask but he has his suspicions and wants me to tell him what happened. My brain is still foggy. I'm not really sure what happened in that room. I know I don't want to tell Jack about it. I work twice as hard to alleviate my guilt and to give my friends a break after digging all day without me. We'll make quota if I have to break my back to do it.

My shoulders ache; my back protests every movement. The blisters on my right hand have melded into one giant sore that covers my palm. New ones have erupted on my repaired hand. They burn and hurt, causing waves of pain up my arms. I don't stop. After awhile Jack orders Sam to rest. She resists and argues until he calls her "major" and raises his voice. She slams her jaw shut giving a clipped, "sir, yes, sir," in reply. Jack mutters obscenities under his breath as we both continue to work.

The alarm sounds and I'm surprised to find it's the final count bell. We stand back as the guard collects the last pile of rocks. He takes his time to tally and passes us. He seems disappointed. When he's gone Sam slumps against the wall with a moan. Jack's at her side in a flash. I just stand there like an idiot. I'm lost—a raft set adrift in an sea of confusion. Jack's yelling at me and his words break through the fog. I help him lay Sam down.

She's not well. We don't know what's wrong. She says she'll be fine if she rests. Jack gives me a worried look. I wonder if him and Sam exchanged those same looks as I lain there earlier in my immaculate tunic and clean, perfumed skin.

The alarm sounds again. Someone didn't make quota. Jack and I leave Sam reluctantly. This time they pull a family of men—father, son and grandson. The old man and young boy watch in horror as the third is tortured beyond submission. At the end he begs along with his family but there is no mercy. The guards do nothing when another group of men turn on the grandfather from the night before. He's alone now and does nothing to defend himself. I listen to the murmur of gossip coming from the crowd around me. Apparently he smothered his granddaughter in her sleep.

Eventually we are herded back to our cells. The boy is pulled screaming from his dead father. The other old man lays in a bloody heap—suicide by mob riot. I feel sick again. Jack looks pale. I want to ask him if he's okay but I already know the answer. He's fine just like I'm fine. We're still alive.

The next morning we wake slowly. Jack is squished up against Sam, his fingers twisted in her shirt. I'm alone. I see the wariness in their eyes. It doesn't take a genius to see how things have changed since I got back. They're suspicious. I don't blame them. They were beaten and raped; I got a bath and a new set of clothes. I'd be pissed, too. It still hurts, though—being pushed away by the two people I love most in my life.

While they whisper to each other I work at getting my hand to open. The blister is scabbed over in places, the skin pulling tight. The muscles are stiff and unmoving. I gently stretch each finger. Sam's watching me.

"Daniel, are you okay?"

I wasn't really expecting concern. She catches me off guard. Jack doesn't look happy when she leaves his embrace to check my wounds. She gasps at the severity. We make quick work of tearing my pant legs and Sam bandages both mine and Jack's hands. Jack does hers, his fingers lingering on her palm a tad longer than militarily appropriate.

We work for what feels like hours after breakfast. Fatigue sets in. I can barely lift my arms, my swings become erratic. I miss more times than not. Jack looks pissed. I refocus, determined not to let him down. You would think we'd easily make quota with three able-bodied adults but it's only mid-day and we're falling behind. Jack's mumbling cusses under his breath again. I'm sure most are directed at me. I don't know what he wants from me.

The shield comes down in a crackle of energy, startling us. They grab Sam. Jack and I both lunge after her but are tossed back by a wave of electricity. I don't know where it came from. My head is ringing and every nerve ending fires at once. It's worse than a Zat blast. Jack shakes off the effects first and demands I get back to work. He's worried, I know. And when he worries he gets angry. I'll let him take his anger out on me if that's what gets him through the day. It's working for myself so far.

The day passes in a blur for me. Sam comes back—battered and bloody but she has her clothes on. I'm not sure it makes much difference at this point. She drags herself to her feet and we work in silence but I feel the tension rising. It's unbearable. I want to cry but I don't. I won't give them the satisfaction—not our captors, not Jack. I work until I can't feel my fingers. The axe slips from my grip to clatter to the ground. We all just stare.

Dinner is tense. I don't feel too well but I get none of the sympathy that Sam did. I don't finish my food. Jack splits it between his and Sam's bowl without a word. I just keep watch and ignore the cramping pain in my gut. This place is surely hell in every sense of the word. Rumor has it the suicide guy's cell has already been filled... by a family of four. Their only crime was letting their toddler peer upon the face of their "god". They'll die here. Just like the last family. Just like everyone. Just like us. I've lost hope I realize.

We manage to make quota despite my bumbling hands but for the third night in a row we file into the cavern. I start to worry that one of these times it will be one of us pulled out for punishment but the guards take pleasure preying on the small and weak. They choose three children, dragging them from their mothers' grasps. Next to me Jack goes rigid. A rage in intensity I've never seen before flashes across his face. He's going to do something.

The kids—two boys and a girl, none older than ten—are lined up. They quiver in fear and one wets himself. The guards laugh. The parents, all with other children, watch in agony. They can't risk doing anything, can't risk leaving their other children vulnerable. They bring out a pain stick. I can't watch. I can't take it any more. I lose what little dinner I consumed. Nobody pays any attention to me. A piercing scream fills the room. I dry heave until my throat closes up. The screaming goes on forever and I'm sure that noise will haunt my dreams until the day I die. Which, most likely, will be soon.

I'm crouched down with my hands over my ears when Jack makes his move. Sam yells for him to stop but it's useless. He shoves his way through the crowd and knocks the remaining boy and girl out of the way. They are too terrified to flee back to their families. The guards aren't happy. They are less happy when Jack taunts them.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size for a change."

They grin maniacally but Jack catches the biggest one off guard. He launches at full speed, flattening him with a shoulder to the abdomen. They go down in a pile of flailing arms and legs. There is an uproar in the crowd. I'm carried in a wave of stinking humanity as they press closer. No human has ever dared speak back to a Jaffa, let alone attack one. I move to help Jack but Sam pulls me back. It's soon apparent why no one tries to escape or fight back. Jack is quickly subdued.

They bind his hands behind his back and knock his knees out from under him. I wince in sympathy. Sam is tense beside me. I think I can see tears glistening in her eyes. Jack looks up defiantly at the Jaffa, a smug smirk on his face. It's gone in an instant as the children are lined up again. Their faces are wet with tears and they're shaking so bad they can barely stand.

"You will pay for your insolence, Tau'ri," shouts the First Prime. He pulls something from under his tunic. I can't see. Horror flashes across Jack's face; Sam gasps, her hands coming up to her mouth. "Let this be a lesson to all. If you don't make your quota someone will be punished. If you disobey, someone will be punished. If you attempt to escape-" the First Prime paces behind Jack during his speech, finally stopping directly behind him and brandishing the object—one of our sidearms, "-someone will be punished.

I'm pretty sure I yell out a, "no," but it is lost in the roar of the crowd. It's too late anyway. The gun fires two times. I watch in horror as two little bodies drop like sacks of potatoes. Jack is screaming. I don't hear the words. They don't matter. Two innocent children are dead because of his actions. There is another commotion in the crowd as three men are carted out, hands bound. They are strong, muscular and young. They pull more than their fare share from the stone walls to help their families.

They fall like the children—with a loud pop echoing off the walls and a small dot of red blooming between their eyes. The room spins crazily before me. Four more are selected. People are panicking now as the strongest are pulled from the crowd to fall to the Tau'ri weapon. Three more are escorted in front of Jack. They stand amongst the still warm corpses of their comrades. The first two drop. The last, a very pregnant woman, is saved as the clip empties. The woman collapses from fear. Angry their fun is over the Jaffa turn on Jack. I only see him get pistol-whipped to the temple before I'm forced back to my cell.

Sam's pacing—a furious fast walk from one end of our cell to the other. At each wall she puts her hands up and pushes off. Faster and faster she moves. I'm afraid she'll hurt herself but I don't dare stop her.

My stomach is still twisting in on itself. I wrap my arms around my midsection. I miss the infirmary. I never thought I'd say that. Sam trips, landing hard on her knees. She cries out in pain and heart-wrenching anguish. I'm afraid to move. I want to comfort her but it is pretty obvious her and Jack don't trust me any more. I'm more than a third wheel now. She slaps the floor in impotent fury, tears finally spilling down her face. My sense of honor wins over my own personal hurt. I wrap my arms around her and whisper into her ear. I don't say anything important. She's not listening anyway.

Just as she starts to calm the forcefield drops. The guards toss Jack in without a word or their usual evil glee. We manage to catch him and gently lower him to the blankets. I hand my tunic to her to press against Jack's head wound. We work for about thirty minutes to stabilize him. Finally Sam is satisfied. She curls up next to him, her arms wrapped protectively around him. I have no one to hold me. I'm ignored once Jack is returned so I roll away from them again, the isolation like a blanket suffocating me.

I don't wake until the alarm for breakfast sounds. I consider ignoring it but already my body has become accustomed to the schedule. It grumbles in displeasure at the idea of missing the morning meal. The words "Pavlov" and "dog" run through my head as I force myself up. They should probably mean something but I'm too tired to remember. Jack and Sam don't wake and I leave them to rest. That is my first mistake. I don't ever make it to the serving table.

The blow comes from behind, swift and brutal. Pain erupts in my head as I fall. The people in front of me scatter. The only loyalties here are to your own group... your family. They can't risk getting involved. Last night proved that without a doubt. My ears are ringing and the room blurs and tilts violently pitching me forward as I try to get to my knees. My arms won't hold my weight. The second attack is more my speed. Someone kicks me in the side. Twice. I'm gasping for air when the booted foot swings out for another blow. Instinct takes over. This isn't my first fight. I roll away from my attacker and, at the same time, grab his foot and twist. He falls in a heap next to me but I don't stop. I roll a few more paces away and catch my breath. People are screaming all around, egging us on. I'm only half up when someone else puts their knee to my face. I crash back, blood spurting from my broken nose. I know they'll be coming fast now so I use the momentum to back roll and I'm on my knees again.

I ignore the blood and growing pain. I can't let them think I'm weak. Jack taught me that, too. As the third (or second or fourth... I've lost track now) guy starts for me again I catch him off guard just as Jack did last night. He never sees it coming and we go down. I'm on top of him now and don't wait to see his surprised expression before I slam my fist into his face—over and over.

Eventually someone hauls me off. My hand aches—I might have broken some fingers—and my ears are still ringing from the initial blow. The world around me is blurry. I've lost my glasses. Not about to go easily, I swing my elbow back connecting with a satisfying crunch and yelp of pain. I have no doubt what this attack is about. Jack interfered last night and ten people died. Jack didn't come to breakfast. I did. I'll pay for his indiscretion.

I don't get any more good blows in. They've pinned me to the ground and I can barely breathe as they pummel me. As the blackness finally overcomes my senses I wonder if Jack and Sam will even notice I'm missing.


	3. Man in the Box Chapter 3

I wake up an indeterminate amount of time later. At first I wonder when the threadbare blankets got so soft. My head hurts. A lot. I open my eyes but it does little to help me get oriented. I only see blurred colors—deep purples and reds. I groan and roll to my side and try to get up. The bed under me is so soft and my whole body begs to just stay put and rest. I can't. I won't. I think of Sam and Jack back in our cell, a man short again, trying to make quota with Jack barely functioning. No one else can die because of us.

Once on my feet I sway slightly but manage to stay upright. I'm back in the room with the bath and the comfy chairs. I squint but it doesn't help me see any clearer. Walking is difficult. My legs are stiff and I might have sprain my ankle in the fight. My right hand is bleeding and my middle two fingers are definitely broken. I hold that hand against my body. The room feels colder than it did last time and without a shirt I shiver against my will. I start to work around the room to find a way out when a door off to one side opens and the young girls enter with deadly seriousness in their eyes.

I'm quickly stripped of my clothing and left standing naked and cold in the middle of the room. I don't have time to consider what is going on. My captor, whatever his name is, glides from the door with is robes billowing behind him. He's a man on a mission, his face set and serious.

"Dr. Jackson." He's irritated. He circles me with a critical eye. What he's looking for I have no idea. I try not to shiver but with little success. "I had so hoped we could talk this through. I have so many questions."

"I won't tell you anything."

He snorts. "Oh, you've already told me more than you think."

I don't like the sound of that. He nods off past my shoulder but I don't turn to see what's coming. My eyes never leave his face. There's a rumble behind me and then I'm grabbed around the arms and hauled back, stumbling over my own feet. I struggle against the men but they're well fed and carrying alien infants that keep them stronger than a human. And I'm starving and worked to exhaustion. I don't have a chance. The bed has pulled back into the wall and a platform raises up with a large box. It's not a sarcophagus. This thing is far more menacing. I shiver again. I'm not sure if it's from the cold or fear. Sweat drips down my back and I swallow hard. There's no fighting back, really, as they force me into the box. Inside is a seat. I'm strapped to it and something like electrodes are attached to key parts of my body. I don't want to know what they're for. The door closes and I'm left in absolute darkness. I blink repeatedly and stare into the nothingness. It's unnerving so I close my eyes. There's no difference between the two states.

I'm not sure what's going on. I sit and wait, panic rising in my chest. It's harder to breathe and I start to think maybe I'm not imagining it. Maybe he's filling the box with some kind of paralyzing poison. I struggle against the restraints before forcing myself to calm down. Minutes pass. Could be more. I can't tell time in here. I can't see, I can't hear. All I know is I want out. There's a fleeting thought that Jack will rescue me. He always does. Except this time he can't. He's down in the bowels of this godforsaken planet digging in the dirt. He'd probably find that ironic—him digging in the dirt, he says that's my thing. I lick my lips, scared for a moment that I won't feel my tongue moving across my skin but I do and that calms me a little more.

Then the images start flashing before my eyes. Except my eyes are still closed. I'm sure of it. I blink a few times just to make sure. The images come whether my eyes are open or not. There's no escape—they're in my brain. I cry out in desperation. I don't want to see what they're showing me. I don't want to relive all the horrible memories of my life. I try to think of something... anything else. Psychological torture is so much worse than physical. I can't escape this. It's in my head.

The images come so fast I get dizzy and throw up down the front of me, the stinking liquid pooling at my bare feet. That memory eventually makes it into the greatest hits. Tears are streaming down my face and I'm begging for them to stop when abruptly my world stills. I'm hoping I'm dead but before the thought even flitters across my mind his voice is in my head demanding to know about the Stargate, about Earth and it's allies. I'm completely defenseless against this attack. I bite down on my tongue, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. But my thought betray me. He laughs at my weakness. I cry. It goes on like that for hours. I fight against the intrusion which frustrates him. I can tell. His attacks become more brutal. When he gets especially mad I'm subjected to last night's execution over and over until I'm completely numbed to the event. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things. Just ten people that are no longer suffering. It's a good thing. Jack did them all a favor I think. I black out for real after that.

* * *

Slowly the world brightens. I'm aware my eyes are open although I'm not hearing anything yet. I blink and slowly the blobs of color coalesce into familiar shapes. I'm back in the cell. Finally my ears pick up sounds—the clink of an axe on stone. I roll to my side and look over at the wall. Sam is banging away. Jack's gone. That frightens me. She looks exhausted. I'm clean and well rested again. I scramble to my feet just in time to catch Sam as she collapses. She looks horrible. She's as white as a ghost and so thin I can feel her bones. We've only been here a week, how could she have lost so much weight. When she's comfortable, as comfortable as she can be, I pick up her axe and work until I can't see straight.

There's no way for us to make quota. I have no idea where Jack is. Sam wakes up in time for dinner. We stick close together, taking turns eating like before. No one attacks me this time but I feel their eyes on me, watching me. I don't know if Sam gets the same feeling but I don't ask her about it. We eat quickly and return to our cell to continue working. Every inch of my body hurts but I swing my axe with everything I have. Sam's barely moving but she tries to help even after I tell her to sit down. I'm afraid to ask what happened to Jack. The look of hopeless defeat in her eyes scares me. She's no longer working to survive or be rescued. She's simply working to make quota so no one else will suffer because of her. I don't know what else to do except dig.

I know we've fallen horribly short when they come for the last count. The guard enthusiastically makes a mark on our work order then gives me a devilish grin. In the cavern I'm thankful for my lost glasses—I don't have to fully witness the beating of a grandmother. Unfortunately I can still hear it. We both collapse once back inside our cell and fall almost immediately to sleep. It's the first night I dream since getting here. I toss and turn, trying to avoid remembering the last few days—all the death and pointless brutality. Eventually I succumb to weariness.

I only wake up when something heavy lands on me. I gasp in startled pain and manage to roll out from whatever it is. Sam's at my side and I realize the weight is Jack. He's unconscious but alive. I don't know what they've done to him but he's not sporting any new bruises or broken bones. Maybe they put him in the box, too. The thought of the box sparks something in the back of my brain—a nagging tickle of something I'm supposed to remember. But I can't. I don't have time to dwell on it before I'm off to breakfast. Sam doesn't want to leave Jack but I pull her along. I can't risk going to the cavern alone again and she needs to eat. She glares at me the entire time. I realize we're not speaking. She hasn't said a word to me since the night Jack interfered. I'm not sure if it's because she has nothing to say or just doesn't want to say those things to me. I sigh as she tosses her bowl down and blows past me back to our cell.

Jack comes to not long after we get back. We both stop working long enough to make sure he's okay. He waves us off and orders us back to work. Sam's reluctant but he uses his "colonel voice" and she obeys just like she was trained to. That voice doesn't have as much effect on me but things between me and Jack are so strained already I don't even consider pushing him. I work until the muscles in my arms and back cramp up. Jack ignores my writhing body, stepping over me to get my axe and takes up where I left off. Sam barely glances down at me. Eventually the convulsions stop but I'm left with muscles pulled tight and sore beyond belief. I can't move. Jack's pissed. He nudges me in the side and yells at me to get up. I try to tell him I can't but he doesn't care. A few more kicks to sore ribs and legs have me up on my knees. Tears press behind my eyelids as another cramp overtakes my leg where Jack's boot just connected with overtaxed muscle. I'm able to work that one out and haul myself up. Jack gives a disgusted grunt when he sees my tear-soaked face. I'm reminded of 3rd grade gym class and getting whacked in the face with a dodgeball. The coach gave me that same look. I didn't have many friends that year.

The days drag on here. There's no lunch break, no stopping between breakfast and dinner. I have no idea how long that time period is. Time is a meaningless concept in the mines. There are only two things that matter—making quota and surviving. You don't worry about anything else. You sleep, you dig, you eat, you make quota. That's it. We dig on in silence forever.

A guard startles us after awhile, coming into the cell and grabbing me by the back of my now grubby tunic.

"You will come with me," he says. Like I have a choice. I probably couldn't toss off a ten year old I'm so tired and sore. Jack barely pays me any attention as I'm half-dragged from the cell. Sam just stares with a sad look on her face. I hear the clinking of their axes before the cell is out of sight.

I don't even wonder where they're taking me. I follow along, knowing the way by heart now. I stand in the middle of the lavish room and wait for "what's-his-name" to make his appearance. The box is still out where the bed is supposed to be. I try to ignore it but my eyes keep darting back to it.

"Ah, Dr. Jackson, I'm so glad you could join me." I hate it when he talks that way. I refuse to look at him so he comes around to stand in front of me, still smiling. "You look... well."

I cock an eyebrow at him. He's crazier than I first thought.

"I won't tell you anything so you might as well stuff me back in that box right now."

He laughs at my bravado. "Please, Daniel, sit and relax."

He slides into one of the lounge chairs. I remain standing. Food is brought out again but I ignore it and the rumbling of my stomach.

"Can we get on with it already," I tell him, "I need to get back to work."

He smiles. "If that is what you wish. I was really hoping we could chat."

"Not a chance in hell." I sound remarkably like Jack.

He claps his hands and his guards take me over to the box and I'm strapped in. I've grown accustomed to the bombardment of images. I'm able to fight against them for much longer before I black out. I have no clue if he's gotten any information from me. I hope not but I don't have much faith left in myself any more.

* * *

I wake up clean and without pain again. I wish I could remember the actual bathing. Jack and Sam are still sleeping. I sit up and rub at my sleepy eyes, watching them. I doubt they know I'm even back. Their arms are around each other; Jack pulling Sam tight to his body with one hand in her hair. She's been crying. I can see the tear streaks on her face. I leave them be and get up to start work early. They only wake when the alarm for breakfast sounds. I skip it and keep working. They return and Jack makes Sam lie back down. I say nothing. We dig for awhile before he starts mumbling to himself. I try to ignore the growing tension between us but it's impossible with his muttering and grumbling.

"What, Jack?" I yell. I've finally cracked. I can't take his hostility any more. "If you have something to say to me then, for god's sake, say it already."

He doesn't say anything at first, just slams his axe into the wall a few more times. I know it's only a matter of time before he snaps. I just wasn't expecting the intensity of it. He axe hits me across the back and slams me into the wall, pinning my axe painfully between me and the wall. I'm trying to catch my breath and process the attack when he moves and I fall back with a thwump, landing on my butt. Sam just stares. I look up at Jack. At least the anger puts some color in his face.

"What did you tell them this time, Daniel?"

"What? I didn't tell them anything." I'm angry, too. I don't understand why Jack is acting this way, why he's lost trust in me. He's never done that before. But this place is having an effect on all of us.

He picks me up by the front of my tunic and shoves me against the wall. "You're telling me they've been treating you to these regular spa visits because they like your company."

I bristle. "Apparently." It's close enough to the truth.

Jack punches me in the face and I slide down the wall.

"Sir-" It's the first time I've heard Sam speak in days. Her voice is weak and gravely. I don't want to know what's been happening to her while I've been in that damned box.

Jack pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder at her. I wipe the blood from my busted lip. I'm tired of being hit and beaten. When Jack turns back to me I don't give him a chance to attack again. My axe handle connects with his midsection and he doubles over which gives me the opportunity to knee him in the face. Sam's yelling at us to stop and I don't even know why we're fighting. I may be better rested but Jack has rage on his side and he eventually pins me to the ground.

"I didn't tell them anything, Jack. I wouldn't do that."

"Then why do you get the royal treatment and we're-" he gestures at himself and our surroundings. It's so typically Jack that I momentarily forget we're not exactly friends any more.

"I don't know." I'm yelling even though he's only a couple feet away, sitting on my chest. "He doesn't answer any of my questions. I don't even know who he is."

"The Goa'uld?"

"Yes. God, Jack, how could you think-"

He slides off me and slumps against the wall, his head in his hands. I wipe more blood from my mouth and sit. My back hurts now, a stabbing pain just below my shoulder blades. I watch the slump of Jack's shoulders and pained expression.

"We need to get back to work," is all he says. I'm not really sure I'm forgiven but I'm pretty sure he's not going to attack me again. Sam manages to get to her feet and we dig until dinner without a word or another incident. We manage to make quota but just barely. We'll have to work even harder the next day.

They take Sam again the next morning, just as we're returning from breakfast. Jack gets himself knocked silly trying to stop them; Sam barely struggles. I help Jack up and we get to work in silence. Sam never comes back. That night is nearly unbearable. Jack doesn't talk, he doesn't look at me. He curls up with Sam's jacket and tries to sleep but he tosses and turns, thrashing out. I wedge myself against the wall and try not to think about what happened to her.

We now have to work three times as hard to keep up with our quota. There isn't time for spats. We start to wake before the first alarm and work until breakfast. We eat fast and don't stop working until dinner no matter how much we hurt or how little we can move. It's agonizing. I've never been in so much pain in my life and that's saying a lot considering what I've gone through since joining the SGC. Two days pass with no sign of Sam. Jack's withdrawing more and more. We don't make quota the second day but before we're taken to the cavern for punishment the guards come for me. Jack glowers as they lead me away. I try to give him an apologetic look but he won't even meet my eyes.

The Goa'uld gives me his friendly schpiel while I stand at attention in the room, refusing to acknowledge his existence. I don't speak at all. This goes on for a good fifteen minutes before I see the first crack in his cool exterior. He lurches to his feet and is in my face in a flash, screaming at me to tell him what he wants to know. It registers that he must not be getting what he wants from me in the box. I give a smug snort which causes him to become irate. I'm blasted back with his hand device to slam against the wall above the tub. I slide down into the empty pool, my head throbbing. I feel blood dripping down my neck and I might have broken my wrist again on impact. I groan in pain but can't seem to coordinate my limbs to get up. He's looming above me with his arm outstretched and all I can see is the jewel at the center of his hand. The blackness comes blessedly quick.


	4. Man in the Box Chapter 4

I wake up to Jack banging against the wall. I'm in fresh clothes, may hair and skin smooth and clean. My wrist doesn't hurt at all. And there's no noticeable wound on my head. I groan in frustration knowing that Jack will be pissed. He hasn't bathed in over a week, hasn't really rested. I feel for him. I wish I could give him a break. I wish I could change places with him. I get to work, too.

I forget how many days have passed since I last saw Sam. Jack doesn't talk about it. He sleeps with her jacket and I'm pretty sure I heard him crying once. A couple days pass without incident. We don't make quota either day. Jack's too exhausted. I work until I can't stand but it's not enough. We watch two more people beaten to a bloody pulp. Jack stands resolutely, taking it all in. His honor is too great to look away. I notice the small flinches. I can't watch. I guess my honor isn't that great. I start to feel sick again. Jack's getting angry. He's sure Sam is dead and it's eating away at him. He has very little to live for. He's giving up. I don't really blame him.

I'm taken back to the room in the morning. He keeps me the whole day.

"You can go back to work as soon as you tell me what I want to know." He circles around me with a predator's eye. "Your friend will not make his quota without your help. The weak don't last long in the mines."

Don't I know that. I'm still wondering if his words were a statement or a warning when I realize he's speaking again. He's been saying the same thing over and over for hours to the point I've just tuned him out. But suddenly I'm surrounded by the young girls. I jump back as they try to strip my clothes. I don't want a bath. I don't want anything they offer me. But, with the help of the guards, they wrestle my shirt and pants from me. I'm scrubbed clean, my skin raw from the combination of scalding water and rough bristles. I pout as they redress me in soft, golden colored clothes. I feel a blinding fury build inside me. I look around for a release. I'm considering the merits of attacking the Goa'uld when his guards haul me unexpectedly to the box.

I wake with a start, confused and disoriented.

"Daniel!" Jack shouts at me. I can kind of see his mouth moving but the sound is distorted, like it's being bounced off of the walls of a very long tunnel. "Daniel, get up and get back to work."

"Huh?" I sound like a freaking moron but I somehow manage to get to my feet. Jack doesn't offer to help me. That's not right, a part of my brain tells me.

"You've been out of it all day. Get to work or we won't make quota."

He shoves the axe at me but I drop it. He glares but goes back to work, making disgusted groans the whole time. I fumble with the heavy tool for a moment then face the wall. I can see where someone had been working next to Jack. Was I working? I don't remember. Jack said I was out of it. Man, he has no idea. Last thing I remember was that damned box. I channel all my frustration into my swings and manage to hit the wall three times out of four. Jack seems to approve. At least he doesn't yell at me any more.

We miss quota by so much I want to scream. It's not fair. How are two people supposed to dig as much as three. Never mind that half the time only one of us is digging. But I'm sure that's the whole point. None of this is about mining for whatever it is they have us digging for. It's about intimidation and power. It's all so pointless—the human slaughter, the joy they take in it. It makes me ill. We go to sleep on opposite sides of the cell after watching yet another person die because of our failure. I don't sleep for a long time even though I'm so tired. I can't move, can't even open my eyes but my brain is running at full speed going over and over the last couple of weeks. How could I have done things differently, I wonder. Maybe if I hadn't been so damn eager to visit those ruins. Maybe if I had listened to Jack more often we wouldn't be here. Eventually I drift off.

When I wake up in the morning I'm beyond exhausted. I must have missed the alarm. It seems late. I force my eyes open and I'm greeted with purple and red. Great, just what I need. I groan and get up. I'm alone with a large table of sweet smelling pastries. My stomach twists violently. I can't remember the last time I ate. I've been missing meals left and right. Perhaps that was part of their plan. The food taunts me mercilessly. I give in to my basic instincts. I've devoured two muffin like breads before his snakey-ness arrives. God, I'm sounding like Jack in my head now. Maybe I miss hearing his usual snark.

"Good, you have eaten. I've been worried about you, Daniel. We could be such good friends if you would only give me a chance. We could learn so much from each other."

I cough and almost choke on my last bite of muffin. It tastes kind of like banana. I don't want to know what it is. He hands me a glass of water and I chug it down. Only then do I look at him. He is absolutely insane. It's the only explanation. Either that or I've gone insane. Probably a little of both. We sit and watch each other for a long while. I can't leave Jack along for another day. I sigh.

"Ah, are you ready to share, then?" he asks.

"What do you want to know?"

This time I return to the cell on my own feet. Jack barely looks over his shoulder at me. I don't know how he's even standing let alone swinging his axe. I try to get him to sit down but he shoves me away. He's not talking to me again. It's probably better that way. I hate this place. I hate what it's done to us. Teal'c and Sam are both gone. Jack and I are as good as dead. We've already pretty much lost our minds. I'm not sure which is worse.

The night drags on, we get our dinner and return to work. We make quota with me doing most of the work. I'm fine with that. Jack could really use a break. I'm not sure he's going to make it another day. That causes a dam of grief to break wide open. I sit in the corner with my arms wrapped tightly around my legs and bury my head in my knees. Sam's gone. It's been so long since I've seen her but even longer since we were really together. She had pushed me away just like Jack was still doing. It hurts so much. I have no one. Even stuck in this tiny space with Jack—I'm completely alone. He snorts at me. I'm a mess, blubbering like a baby. Not that I expect Jack O'Neill to comfort me but the fact that he's laughing at me kills a little piece of me inside. The part that secretly hoped Jack would come around—be the friend that I know he is. I guess that friend is gone now. I'm stuck in this space with a stranger. One that harbors a deep-seeded antagonism for me.

When I wake up in the morning Jack is gone. I have no doubts it's for good. I just lie there. I don't care any more. They've taken everything I've ever cared about. I even gave them what they wanted. I talked... about everything. Well, mostly. I tried to think of old information, non-vital things that wouldn't get Earth annihilated. I don't know how convincing I was. I really don't remember much. My time in that room is so hazy I'm not even sure it actually happened. For all I know it was all a dream. I skip breakfast, choosing to curl into the fetal position and hope it all goes away. If this is a bad dream maybe I just need to wake up. But it doesn't end. I hear the other slaves shuffle back to their cells and the sounds of digging drift in through the forcefield.

I finally get up and start working. And I go on like that without a single break for hours. Jack comes back a little more bloody. He's not happy. He's screaming curses at the guards, even takes a swing at one of them. They just laugh and throw him in. I try to help him up but he shrugs me off. I don't even think of trying again. We work in silence for only an hour before they come back for me. This is getting ridiculous.

That night, at dinner, I'm not even hungry. Jack knows it. He can hear that my stomach isn't growling. Not that there's much to growl about but Jack's still going through the motions. I offer him my soup and I can see in his eyes he wants to toss it back in my face on principal alone but he's starving. And not that imagined starving that well fed Americans complain about when they don't get their three squares right on time. He's wasting away before my eyes. I really haven't lost that much weight. I don't remember eating half the time but my clothes still fit and I feel okay... most of the time. Jack looks like death warmed over. He's covered in cuts and bruises; his skin is nearly translucent in some places. It's creepy to look at. He knows I'm watching and turns away. Another mistake. One Jack won't live to regret. We're both facing the same way so we don't see the attack coming. I'm blindsided by something large and I watch in horror from the floor as an axe comes down on Jack's head.

I scream out. I know I do. I don't hear the sound, though. Everything has dropped to super slow motion. Every movement of every person in a ten foot radius becomes glaringly obvious and easily tracked. Problem is I'm moving just as slow. I try to get to Jack but they hold me back. Two men—I vaguely relate them to someone that died because of our recently missed quota—stand over Jack. He's trying to move. Blood is pooling around him and they just stand. Everyone watches as he slowly dies in front of our eyes. This can't be happening. Teal'c, Sam and now Jack. They're all gone. I really am alone now. Jack's blank eyes stare up at me and I feel the tears dripping off my cheeks and soaking my shirt. They turn on me and I'm welcoming the fatal blow but it doesn't come. I get a jab to the jaw that knocks me silly for a few minutes. I come to in my cell. When the guards come to collect quota they laugh at my measly pile of rocks.

"It's not fair," I scream. I'm so tired and lost and confused. If they'd only tell me what they wanted, why my friends had to die. "How am I supposed to make our quota? I'm only one person."

They don't care. Another person dies because of me. The next day they come just before dinner. I've been working non-stop. At least, I think I am. But I keep falling over from exhaustion. When I regain consciousness I immediately go back to work but I have no way of knowing how much time has passed. I'm nowhere near making quota so I really don't care when they drag me off. I'm too tired to walk or give a damn.

They bypass all the niceties this time and stuff me in the box. I enjoy the momentary lack of stimulus before the mental torture starts up. I don't think my body and mind can take much more of this. But it goes on. The next day is more of the same. The next day after that I'm in the box from breakfast until dinner. I pass out several time but I'm always brought back to. They toss me back in my cell before final count. I laugh when they come to collect. I have nothing. This is so crazy. I watch without any feelings as a mother of three is zapped with the pain sticks. What difference does it make any more? At least they don't kill her. I see her getting to her feet with the help of her children. She's alone with them. They probably won't make quota with her injured now. And it's my fault—I guess. It doesn't matter. I pass out as soon as I'm back in my cell.

* * *

I lose all track of time after that. Time is relative, Sam would tell me. Then probably go on a rant about Einstein that would go so far over my head... She was always so clueless that the people around her didn't understand half of what came out of her mouth. Jack seemed to enjoy her rambling. I know there were many times he'd stop her three words into the first sentence to get her to cut to the chase—to dumb it down to the level of us mere mortals. But there were many more times I watched him goad her into a nonsensical rambling about something I knew he had no understanding of. He would just stare at her as she talked, this silly grin on his face. God, I miss him. I miss them both. I wonder when this will end... if it will end. They keep healing my physical injuries. They keep me fed. The only thing suffering is my sanity. My time in the box is becoming more frequent. I don't know what they're asking me, if they're even asking me anything at all. I talk sometimes, just to hear my own voice. Just to drown out the internal soundtrack to the images I see whether my eyes are open or closed. I tell him all sorts of things. I've gone into detail about losing my parents and Sha're. About living in foster care as a kid. About not getting that bike I wanted for Christmas when I was nine. I talk about living in Colorado and camping with Jack in the mountains when we had a week off last year. Like we don't camp enough when we're working. But it had been fun—just the two of us... and a full cooler of beer and snacks. No rations makes any camping trip better.

I'm sure I've given away all of Earth's secrets. My lack of guilt scares me a little. I just don't care. I want it to stop. Back in my cell one night I consider hanging myself. I even go so far as to tear the blankets into strips and tie them together. A lack of a good anchor on the ceiling halts my plans. Another night I think about throwing myself on my axe. Funny how suicide isn't as easy as they make it look in the movies. Maybe if I had a gun. Pulling a trigger isn't quite as hard as pushing a sharp blade into your chest. Another couple of days in the box and my brain is so fried I'm not even sure I'm awake any more. Awake, asleep—it's all the same really. It's all hell. I'm not allowed to rest. When I'm awake I'm being tortured or worked to agonizing exhaustion. When I'm asleep I relive the horrors and I'm constantly reminded of my failure—to Earth, to the SGC, to Jack and Sam. I have to get out of this place.

Escape had never crossed my mind after that first night. I considered being rescued the first few days but escape seemed out of reach. Now I had nothing to lose. Someone was going to die because of me every night anyway.

The next time I'm left alone in the room I waste no time examining the perimeter. My on the job military training kicks in surprisingly easy. I search for any means of escape or weapons. Or for information in general. Information is power. Even Jack had to admit to that. The more you know—and, god, that sounds like an after school special. My hunt is halted by the arrival of the girls. They don't seem to know what I was up to and I let them do their thing. There's no point in fighting. My mind is working on the problem now. It latches on to it like a drowning man to a life preserver. Anything to keep from thinking about the hell around me. I wish I could see. Without my glasses everything is blurry until I'm right on top of things. So I ask about them.

What's-his-name smiles. He's pleased I've made a reasonable demand. He's ignored all my other inquiries from his name to what happened to my friends. He doesn't get my glasses but he uses his devise on my eyes. After what seems like hours, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep, he says he's done. I open them cautiously and I'm amazed to see everything in crisp, clear technicolor. I give him some useless information about the Alpha Site. Well, the old Alpha Site. I've lost track of how many sites we've gone through. Actually, I'm not even sure I'm making any sense any more. But it distracts him. He leaves me alone again. Either he's getting too trusting or too sloppy in his eagerness to verify my information. Doesn't matter to me. I'm alone and I can see. I scour the room for possible escape. The box sits in the corner, rather unassuming in it's design. It's simply a large black box. I knock on it tentatively and it rings with the sound of some kind of metal. I find the controls but I'm not sure how to work it. I don't think it will help me escape anyway so I move on.

I work my way around the room until I pass the door that the Goa'uld usually enters from. I'm tempted to try it but he's in there somewhere. I have no way of knowing if the door leads to a corridor or just another chamber. It's not worth the risk this time around. I hear voices from the other side and scurry across the room to sit on one of the poofy cushions. I'm tossed in the box as soon as him and his goons are through the door. I wake up in my cell. Damn. Two days of back breaking labor pass before they bring me back. He's not too happy with me. I'm not sure why. I've been giving him crappy intel for over a week now. I'm not sure why the stuff about the Alpha site set him off. But he's mad. Really mad. He doesn't use his hand device, though. He gets a little old school with me. I'm stripped by the girls and left standing in the center of the room again. This time, though, the guards close in on my. I have no time to react before they are knocking me around. I pass out after awhile. I really hope it's for the last time.

I wake up in the box with an image of Sam under one of the hulking guards. I gag and choke. That's not my memory. I don't want to see that. I can't make it go away and the tears sting my eyes. Why won't they stop already? They don't ask me any questions. No doubt this is punishment. Later that night I'm carried back to my cell. It's long past final count and everyone's asleep. I'm thankful for that. I pull Sam and Jack's jackets out from the corner and wrap myself up in them. I wish they were here. Maybe we could have figured a way out with the information I was gathering. We probably could have before they disappeared—if we had been talking. I still don't understand why they pushed me away. I guess I never will. It's hard being alone.

I'm surprised to be left alone in the large room the next morning. These guys must be pretty stupid. I skip right past the side door and examine the wall all the way to the main doors. There's something in the back of my head trying to make itself known... a fact that wants to be recognized. I go back to the middle of the room and stare around. The tickle grows more insistent. I'm missing something. I know it. I turn slowly, trying to remember. Then I'm struck with a memory of my first time in the room. The Goa'uld seemed to appear out of nowhere from behind me. While I was staring away from the doors. I go back to them and walk slowly from wall to wall, running my hand along the stone surface. I almost miss it after my second pass but there, almost imperceptible, is a little lip that runs from the ground up to about seven feet. I scramble to find a trigger before I'm exposed. My heart races as my fingers connect with a small button. I give a silent prayer to whatever beings might be out there and press it.

I'm out. I'm running along a golden corridor, not unlike a mother ship. I don't know where I'm going but as long as I get far, far away from that room and the mines I don't care. I'll just find a place to hide and hang tight until I can figure something out. I have no clue how long I've been here or if anyone is even looking for me. I'm so wrapped up in my inner thoughts I don't pay attention to my movements and round the wrong corner. Jack would have disapproved. I feel the Zat blast before I register the Jaffa standing in front of me. Crap.

I wake up in total darkness. I'm so tired of this box. I scream at the top of my lungs but I know there's no one there to hear me. They don't let me out any more. They alternate between the torturous images and complete sensory deprivation. I'm sure this is what madness feels like. I'm hysterical most of the time, giggling at the most horrible memories of my life and crying like a baby when I'm alone. They don't feed me or let me up to use the facilities. I sit in my own waste. It's horrible. I want to die but I just can't seem to. There's a joke in there somewhere that Jack would probably find funny. But he's not here any more. He's not coming to save me. Slowly the world fades away, even the internal images and sounds. I'm relieved. I can finally rest.


	5. Man in the Box Chapter 5

Somewhere in the distance I hear voices. Lots of them. They sound agitated. They're calling for me to open my eyes. I ignore them. I was supposed to die, damn it. Why can't they just let me die? I've told them everything I know already. What more could they possibly want? The voices are very persistent so I work my eyes open. Everything is blurry but I haven't seen light in days. Faces swim in front of me. I can sort of see their mouths moving but I don't understand their words. It's like watching a movie with the sound off sync. I blink but I can't seem to focus. Or maybe it's because I'm missing my glasses. I reach up to touch my eyes but someone holds my arm down at my side. They're gentle, though. It's been a long time since anyone was gentle with me. It's a little foreign. I'm vaguely aware of being carried but I start to drift off after that. Please let this be the end.

The next time I wake up it's different. There's strange noises, lots of beeping and whirring. I crack one eye open but slam it shut right away. It's too bright. And white. I'm not used to that. I'm lying on something soft. A bed, I realize with warm, comfortable covers. And a pillow. I snuggle down into it. It smells fresh, like bleach and detergent. There's a definite antiseptic smell to the room which is only a million times better than the hell I had been in the last few days. I start to fall back asleep but there's a whisper in the back of my brain. This should all be familiar. I know that it should. Deep down I know. I force my eyes open and look around. The word infirmary comes to mind.

"Daniel?"

Oh, god, that sounds like Sam. It causes a stab of pain in my chest so deep I can't breathe. Things start beeping around me and there are more voices.

"Just relax, Daniel. You're having a panic attack. Take deep breaths."

There are more gentle hands on me now. I recognize that voice.

"Janet?"

She smiles down at me. "You're going to be okay."

I don't know how. I turn my head and the blurry mess next to me looks an awful lot like Sam Carter. I reach out to the ghost in front of me only to connect with actual flesh and blood. She grips my hand tightly. I start to cry.

"Daniel, are you okay?"

I nod. Then shake my head. Then nod again. I don't know. It's all so confusing.

"Jack?" I ask, afraid to know the truth.

"I'm here."

The room starts to spin. That was definitely his voice. Confusion overtakes my brain. I can't make sense of anything any more. I watched him die. I could justify hearing Sam or Teal'c. I never actually saw them die, I only assumed it since they never came back. But Jack... I had seen the lifeless eyes, had seen all the blood. The room grows fuzzy then fades away.

I wake up again later to more voices. I listen to them discuss my medical and mental state.

"What's wrong with him then?" Jack asks.

"I'm not sure, sir. He seems to be suffering from some kind of psychological break."

"You mean he went crazy."

"In a manner of speaking."

"A manner? Doc..."

Janet sighs. Jack is a master at producing that sound from everyone around him.

"But why did he go crazy?" That's Sam.

"Perhaps it has something to do with the large device we found him in." Oh, god, it's been forever since I last heard Teal'c's deep voice. I start to stir and that gets everyone's attention.

"Hey, Danny-boy, how ya feelin'?"

I squint up at him. Then someone is leaning over me, fiddling with my face. When they draw back I can clearly see it is Dr. Fraiser. She's got a relieved smile on her face. She pats my arm then moves to check the monitors.

"Jack?"

"In the flesh."

"But... but... bu..." It's almost too much for me to process.

"But?"

"You're dead," I whisper.

He looks down at himself. "I look pretty alive."

"I watched you die."

That gets their attention. They all stare at me with looks of confusion and alarm. I'm obviously not well.

"You did not," he accuses. I know this game but I'm not in the mood to play along.

"Daniel," Sam interrupts, "what are you talking about?"

"In the mines. Jack was attacked one night with an axe. He... he died."

"No, I didn't!" he shouts as if outraged at the thought.

"What mines?" Sam asks.

My head hurts and the room is starting to spin again. I rub at my eyes. "The mines." Why don't they understand. We just spent the last... oh, three weeks there. How could they forget? I know I never will.

They exchange glances then Janet shoos them off. "He needs to rest," she tells them. Like that's going to make much difference. I wake several times in the night screaming and thrashing about. Eventually Janet has to sedate me.

"Wakey, wakey, Daniel."

I bolt upright at the sound of Jack's words—they're so familiar. He seems surprised at my sudden movement.

"Woah, calm down, Daniel. It's okay, you're in the infirmary, remember?"

I look around, slightly dazed then it all starts falling back into place. I relax back into the pillow with a small nod.

"Doc wants to know if you feel up to eating anything yet."

I really don't. I turn away from him. He leaves after awhile. But then Sam comes.

"Daniel, what's wrong? Talk to me," she pleads. I ignore her, too. It's only fair, I tell myself, they ignored me for weeks. Made me feel like I was to blame for all their problems. I'm tired. I sleep a lot.

When I wake up the next morning—at least, I guess it's morning by the movements of people around the base—Teal'c is standing next to my bed.

"Daniel Jackson," he says in greeting.

"Hey, Teal'c." I pull myself into a sitting position so I can see him better. It's disconcerting to talk to him while lying down... he's so tall. I notice he doesn't look happy.

"Why are you avoiding Major Carter and O'Neill?"

"What?"

"They have both expressed concerns with your obvious avoidance."

"Did they?" That didn't sound right. And, yet, it did. It was completely right. I'm so confused. He only stares at me, waiting for an explanation. Things start to click into place. "Teal'c, how long have we been missing?"

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "We have not been missing. You, Daniel Jackson, were gone for two days."

I shake my head in disbelief. "What? That's not right."

"It is correct. We arrived at P2R-776 as scheduled and proceeded to explore the ruins. You were most eager. O'Neill described you as a youth in a shop providing sweets for a small price."

"Kid in a candy store," I mutter.

He nods in agreement with my interpretation. "You wandered off against O'Neill's orders and disappeared. We searched for many hours before returning to the SGC. It took us two days to locate you deep within the ruins."

"How?"

"We believe you stumbled upon a Goa'uld trap, long since forgotten by whatever System Lord once ruled the planet. You were transported into the center of a large facility. We found you inside a black box. We do not know it's purpose."

I am having trouble making sense of what he's telling me.

"But you guys weren't taken with me?"

"We were not."

I shake my head in frustration "It wasn't real?" He doesn't have an answer to that because he has no clue what I'm talking about. "I'm tired," I tell him after a moment and then immediately fall back asleep.

The next day I'm in BDUs and sitting on the edge of the bed. I just stare at my booted feet. I'm not sure it's worth the effort to get off the bed. Jack seems to think it is. He's been cajoling me since morning to get up and go to the commissary for lunch. Janet eventually gave me the go-ahead but I can't make myself move. Every time I hear Jack's voice I remember him screaming at me. When he reaches to touch my arm I flinch away remembering his fist connecting with my jaw. He doesn't understand. Hell, I don't understand. How can I have these two distinct memories of him? I keep telling myself one isn't real but then I start to wonder which one is the false one. Maybe this is all a dream and I'm still stuck in that hell.

Jack's frustrated. I can tell. I've disappointed him so much in the past. I can't do it any more. So I get up and follow him to the commissary and take some food and I sit and listen to him and pretend to eat. Nothing escapes his eyes, though.

"Daniel, if you don't eat something you'll waste away to nothing."

I wince at his words, fresh guilt flushing my face. It doesn't matter that the guilt isn't for this reality.

"I'm not hungry," I tell him, putting my fork down and pushing the tray away.

"Fraiser said you had to eat."

"She's not here."

"Then I'm telling you to eat and I'm your commanding officer."

"You're dead."

"I AM NOT! Quit saying that."

Everyone in the room turns at Jack's outburst. He hunches down in his chair until they turn away. Then he gets up and drags me back to my office.

"What the hell is going on with you?" He's demanding now, wanting to understand. But I know him. This isn't the kind of thing he'll want to talk about. I don't really have time to explain, though. We're called up to Hammond's office even as I open my mouth to give him some standard blow-off answer.

Jack doesn't have to wait any longer for his explanation. Hammond asks for a full report and I'm tired of side-stepping questions and avoiding my friends. I tell them everything—every sordid, sickening detail. The looks of horror on their faces, even Teal'c's, tells me everything I need to know. I feel ashamed and I didn't even do anything wrong apparently.

Sam starts in on her own explanation. The box is some kind of information extractor. That much I could have told her. She surmises that it links to the subject's brain and first gathers information and then feeds images back to illicit responses. It grows and learns as the subject reacts mentally with the created environment.

"So," I ask slowly, "it was all..."

"Fake," Jack says.

Sam frowns at him. "It was more like a virtual world."

"It wasn't real." I need to hear her say the words.

"No, it wasn't real. Not in the sense that we would have been able to see, touch and experience the same sensations. It was real to you, though."

"Not real," I repeat.

"And I'm not dead," Jack adds.

For the first time I crack a smile. He's not dead. None of them are. And none of them had to go through that hell. My smile grows and pretty soon it's joined by tears of relief. None of those people died. It wasn't real. My relaxed state pleases my friends. Jack starts cracking more jokes about being dead. Sam laughs along with him. Even Hammond chuckles a few times. Teal'c watches me carefully. He's still worried about my mental health. So am I. The experiences might not be really real but I can't shake the memories. I close my eyes and I see Jack bleeding out on the hard stone floor, those blank, lifeless eyes staring up at me. I shiver.

"I have a theory," Sam says, interrupting my thoughts. I'm sure she saw me shake a second ago and figured I was having another flashback. She's perceptive that way.

"No... you have a theory?" Jack kids.

She rolls her eyes. "I was thinking that maybe we could use the machine to reverse the effect."

"Reverse?" I'm not sure what she means.

"Like erase those bad memories they gave him?"

She nods. I perk up at that. Could she really do that? What am I talking about. She's Sam Carter—she can do anything.

* * *

Two days later we're in an unused lab in the bowels of the SGC staring at the black box. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. I know it wasn't real. I tell myself that a thousand times a day but I still feel the grit on my skin and feel Jack's boot connecting with my ribs. I glance over at him but he's twiddling one of Sam's diagnostic tools in his hands. She quickly takes it away and goes back to fiddling with the machine.

"Are you sure this will work?" I ask for the twentieth time.

She sighs. "No, but it's the only thing I can think to do."

I nod. I don't have much choice. I can't live with these false memories. After awhile Teal'c and Janet join us. The doctor has brought medical supplies and a monitor. She quietly hooks me up to the machine, watching me with a wary eye. I try to smile but it feels false even to me. She pats my arm and whispers that everything will be okay. For some reason I believe her.

When Hammond shows up a few minutes later it's time to get the show on the road. I stand in front of the open door with more apprehension than I'd like. Sam gives me a reassuring smile and it's because of the utter trust I have in her that I'm able to force myself inside. I only shake a little. The fact that they don't strap me in helps. She situates the head connectors and steps out. I close my eyes and wait. Minutes pass and I'm about to ask what's going on when I get a familiar tingle running over my skin. I groan. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe none of this is happening and I'm still in that damn mine and I'm about to find out how wrong I was. But the images that pop up are going in reverse. I blink but they don't disappear. Not that I really thought they would. They're going so fast, though, that I can't discern one from another. That's probably a good thing. But then their moving so fast I feel sick. A pressure builds in my head and grows so painful I can't think of anything but the pain. The images are now just a blur of colors. This whole thing would be better with strong drugs. I scream out as the pain becomes unbearable and then it's all gone.

I'm breathing hard and staring into the darkness when I begin to hear voices. It's confusing at first. Then there's light. I slam my eyes shut. It hurts.

"Daniel? Daniel are you okay?" That sounds like Janet.

There are hands on me, pulling me out of wherever I am.

"Oh, god." That sounds like Sam. And she sounds upset.

"His stats are returning to normal. I think he's okay."

"Daniel," Jack says with a stern voice, "are you all right?"

I finally convince my eyes that it's okay to open again. I stare up at my friends as they surround me. I appear to be on the floor of a large room.

"What's going on?"

"What do you remember, son?" General Hammond asks with obvious concern.

I rack my brains, trying to remember. Everything is fuzzy and disjointed. "Uh... we were on P2... something or other." That gets a smile from Jack. I'm sure I hear him mutter something about how he's not the only one that doesn't remember those things.

"That was several days ago, Daniel Jackson."

"Really?"

"And I'm not dead."

I look up at Jack. I have no idea why he would say that. It's obvious he's not dead. Man, I'm confused.

"Did I miss something? How did I end up back at the SGC?"

They all exchange glances.

"You don't remember?" Sam asks.

"No." I think hard over the last day I could remember. "The last thing I know I was looking at some ornate carvings. I ran my hand over them to, you know, clear the etchings and then... I woke up here."

"You don't remember anything else?" asks Hammond.

"Like me dying."

"What? No. What are you talking about?"

Jack seems satisfied and doesn't ask about his supposed death again. I'm glad. It weirds me out.

"I want to check him out in the infirmary-"

"I'm fine," I say quickly. I'm so sick of the infirmary. I wonder why I think that. It's been awhile since I've been in there. I thought my track record for avoiding the place was getting better. They all give me identical looks of skepticism. "Really."

"Nevertheless, I'd like you to have Dr. Fraiser check you out. Then we'll debrief in one hour."

I nod and let them escort me to the infirmary. I notice how Jack and Sam hover close, periodically glancing over at me. It's unsettling and, at the same time, comforting. I've kind of given in to the confused feeling that is overwhelming me at the moment. Whatever it is it can't be that bad because I'm with my friends and I know they'd never let anything bad happen to me.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is completely different than any others I've written over the years. The whole thing came to me after I sprain my wrist. I was trying to do things and all I kept thinking was "my wrist hurts." The evolved into this story. Thanks to ufgator1977 for a quick once over and assuring me that it's worth posting (something about tears in her eyes).


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